Summer Months
by schlimazel
Summary: As he watches under charcoal skies, he remembers and he hurts. The summer months are far too long. [SalazarxGodric]


**Disclaimer:** Characters are property of J. K. Rowling.  
**Notes:** Written as a response to Duck the Duck's _Image Inspiration Challenge_ on HPFF.

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Summer Months

Every year, the summer months seemed the slowest in passing, floating by in the form of sunlit clouds that might've remained stationary all day long. Time was not so much frozen as it was heavily laden with dry, oppressing heat to the point of immobility. Even with the dark hints of a storm on the horizon, the weather seemed only to grow more disagreeably warm in the seasonal haze. Enchanters of nobility throughout Britannia were retreating to the cool, stone walls of their manors, aided by spellwork to keep the interior temperatures low. And yet, the heat always seemed to seep in through the cracks, little by little, wearing away the flimsy enchantments.

A young sorcerer sought some hope of catching a stray breeze atop one such fortress, draped over the battlements surrounded by his own ebony tresses. He gazed dully upon the path that led to the door, eyes crinkled ever so slightly with scorn for the pair that treaded the dirt pathway. In this heat, of course, it was only that ridiculous Godric who would be able to tempt Rowena out of her libraries and into a stroll out of doors. Helga would predictably be stealing a nap amidst the roses in the garden in the company of her kneazles, for she was always claimed to be particularly affected by the sleep-inducing factors of warmth.

Only Salazar kept to himself atop the little castle, watching what might be his friends with a spiteful eye. He sighed softly, twirling a strand of hair around a lazy index finger and inhaling what little oxygen could be weeded out from the heavy-scented summer air. It was stifling, this overwhelming smell of growing things, particularly for a young man who had spent most of his days cooped up in a large, cold house with thick walls and keys to every room. But here it was for the taking, this mélange of roses, grass, apples, honey, and life itself. In fact, it smelled precisely like...Godric.

It was Godric who had finally come to his rescue, whisking Salazar away from that dreary, terrible home of his childhood and introducing him to the taste of adventure. A taste of something good and fresh and young... Salazar shut his eyes, fingers curling slightly over heated stone. Yes, those private days with Godric had been a very lovely thing to think about indeed. Trapped in a cage of a life under lock and key, the wizard had never had any friends, or even become close to anyone in particular. For that, Salazar had the social abilities of a rock, repelling the few who managed to get near enough to offer him the gift of friendship with dry remarks and cynical wit. But this golden-haired youth from the moors of Boltby... He was not so easily discouraged.

As a matter of fact, it was during a summer not unlike this one that they had met in the first place. Godric's resilient nature had gradually attracted Salazar's interest to an extent of admiration, which had amazed Salazar in itself. It was not particularly long before the smiling young man was enticing Salazar out upon afternoon walks and introducing him to the wonders of the world, the herbs and the beasts that thrived in the forests. Though less book-learned than Salazar, Godric's knowledge was so much broader in the sense that he had been out there, experienced adventure first-hand. The black-haired sorcerer was jealous. He wanted everything that had been kept from him during the tender years of adolescence-- in other words, everything Godric _had_. Unwittingly, Salazar allowed his envy to swell into a maddening desire, a passion that consumed his existence; he began to force arguments out of his friend, pluck just the right strings to draw a reaction.

Godric, for all his worldly wisdom and carefree frame of mind, had still been naive enough to respond with astonishment the first time Salazar kissed him. Another summer day, another dry spell. Salazar's temper, particularly low with due credit to the weather, had roused another argument. Godric, upset to find himself participating unwillingly in another fight, had been caught quite off guard when Salazar shoved him into a tree and stole a violent, demanding kiss. After that, the disputes seemed to die down-- but the romantic trysts had only just begun. Salazar was quick and perfectly willing to be beguiled from his home by his newfound lover, and Godric had been thrilled to open his doors to a long-term guest.

For a few years, their romance was conducted with perfect secrecy and enjoyment under the nose of society. Even when Godric's second cousin, a native of Ceredigion in Wales, came to live with them as well, the pair only found their rendezvous all the more exciting. But then, _she_ had arrived. The young woman from Caledonia, a lover of books and perfectly content to keep to her libraries and avoid contact with her fellow human beings, observing life from a distance. And her temper, when interrupted! It could match even Salazar's rage at its fieriest. Of course Godric had chosen to pursue her. She was a riddle, a challenge, ready for the solving-- something Salazar could no longer be, for he had already been undone by Godric's charms. And, little by little, the flower that was Rowena Ravenclaw opened up to the enchanter. If Salazar had expected the return of Godric's undivided affections at that point, he was sorely disappointed.

So there was Salazar, abandoned and as alone as he'd ever been. He spoke every so often with Godric's endearing relative, Helga, but it was hardly the same sort of company. He went out more often to gain recognition in the upper classes among wizards, preferring the company of those Gifted as himself to the wretchedness of Muggles. Perhaps Godric noticed his increasing absences-- but then again, perhaps he did not; Salazar made a point of not paying attention. Just like that, Rowena had taken his place. It would appear evident that he was not needed anymore.

Salazar opened his eyes again, taking in the sudden daylight through irises of turquoise. With a glance to the skies, he noted that the storm had neared, staining the ivory clouds in shades of slate and charcoal. The young man did not even bother to look down to check on the location of the potential lovers, Godric and Rowena. Instead, Salazar rose to his feet to withdraw into the shadows of the castle. Oh, what a woe were these slow summer months.


End file.
